


The Man Who Sold the World

by plastic_cello



Series: The Ballad of Tony and Loki [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Rock 'n' roll, Seventies, mention of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But mayhap someone would find the story of William Madden, Loki Odinson, and eventually Loki Laufeyson to be a good one. And I can vouch, without any hesitation whatsoever, that it has been one bloody hell of a ride.</p><p>A recollection of Fifteen Cities, the Rise of Loki Laufeyson, and the Fall of Tony Stark from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Sold the World

**Author's Note:**

> This truly came out of left field; I hadn't any intention on starting this until I finished the Fall of Tony Stark. However, inspiration hit me and this came from it. Be aware that there will NOT be any spoilers for the ending of TFOTS in this story. In fact, this might just sit as a prologue until I finish off the other story.
> 
> But I do hope you enjoy this nonetheless. And this story will officially end the series.

* * *

 

 

**Prologue :: Foreward**

 

* * *

 

 

_Oh no, not me_  
 _I never lost control_  
 _You're face to face_  
 _With The Man Who Sold The World_

**"The Man Who Sold the World"** \- David Bowie

 

* * *

 

When one writes a biography, or authorizes one for that matter; there must be a plausible reason for it. Perhaps, the subject is at death's door; about to plunge into the abyss of nothingness, and feebly attempts to reach out for self-preservation. To tell their story before it is much too late, and half-truths and falsehoods are spread like a virus through the air.

It's hard to say why I chose to inevitably write this. I can't say if my health is failing or not; or if my biological clock has entered into the eleventh hour. Whether or not, I fear being misconstrued or misrepresented if I were to, by chance, die suddenly or slowly sink into dementia (although the likelihood of that seems very slim; then again life has proven to be unpredictable). But I suppose it truly does not matter either; why should it really?

My personal circumstances haven't changed because I've chosen to write this. It hasn't brought me any closer or further away from death. If anything it's an indication of my vitality; the life that still is firmly embedded in me, and hasn't been snubbed out of yet. I'm still alive, regardless of the many instances in which I felt like I was not. Where I have seriously contemplated why I even survived for so very long, or why I was gifted with too many chances to count.

Life hasn't always been kind to me; in fact, I'm more privy to believe it had been exceptionally cruel since I was a child. And yet, I somehow turned unfortunate situations into positivity; even when it hadn't been the goal. Much of my life had been a series of successful coincidences; while some had been intentional to a degree, many of them were not.

My career had been built on trial and error; coincidence and calculation. None of which had been completely and methodically planned, though. Nor had I suspected that a boy from Essex, an unremarkable one at that, could rise in the music industry as he had. Looking back on what I was, what I had become, and the legacy (no matter how small, because it truly is) I left behind; I find myself overwhelmed by it.

I hadn't intended on becoming a musician, after all. My calling had been elsewhere, or so I assumed it had been. But I was proven unequivocally wrong, and I was never the sort to take being proven wrong gracefully. And that led me down many pathways that I needn't have taken, had I only accepted my fate without approaching the situation with my customary pigheadedness; that undoubtedly has its own legendary status at this point.

I cannot say I have any regrets, though. Neither in my professional life or otherwise; I always found regret to ultimately be a pointless sentiment. My belief in fate has always been a source of strength for me. No less, a cause of confliction too; since I'm readily reminded of the fact, I should regret some of my more outrageous of behaviors that spanned my lifetime. Although, I find it hard to muster it up when the incident in question involved something I had said to someone in 1973 while highly stressed after endless months of touring, and really haven't any recollection of anyway.

Even at my current age, I have retained the ferocity of my youth and my inability to apologize. It has tapered away some, as has the black of my hair (which has unfortunately become laced with white, and I refuse to believe it looks regal regardless of the compliments I've gotten on my appearance of late); and my readiness to provoke anyone for the mere implication that I am not as intelligent as I presume I am, even though my presumption is very much true still.

But I still cannot believe what I have accomplished; how I ultimately rose from barkeep to local musician, semi-popular lead singer of a band, to an internationally revered rock star. I feel as if I'm speaking of someone else; certainly I hadn't lived a life like this. I couldn't have possibly been around the world more times that I can count, and be beloved by thousands of strangers who known the lyrics to the songs I've written verbatim.

Nor can I believe that people have still held me in such high regard, in terms of my influence on the music industry during the seventies and early eighties. I've been very lucky in that respect, to be viewed as someone who helped shape a music genre; and somehow maintained a semblance of relevance almost thirty years later, despite my semi-retired state.

Maybe that's why I've chosen to write this; although I'm doing so in secret at this point, considering I am personally acquainted with a rather talented writer, who had at one point covered my musical career for Rolling Stone magazine (and ended up defaming me at the same time, but I digress), and someone who I would like very much to write my recollections down in his own, suitably more descriptive, way instead.

Granted by the time I give my consent for this to be published, I'll be very much dead. There is only so much publicity one person can take, before it becomes more harrying than flattering. I'm much too old to enjoy the spotlight for more than an hour or so; the crow's feet about my eyes are much too deep whether I am smiling or not. And while I've been told I've aged gracefully for someone who had success in a drug-addled decade known for its debauchery; I still rather keep my anonymity when I can.

A biography of my life would essentially make that impossible. I rather be comfortably under six feet of plot, filled with formaldehyde, and being eaten by earthworms; before anyone had been given clearance to read of my many unsavory adventures, and the crucial events that helped shape my person. May it be sooner than later is irrelevant; although many would argue my demise has been sped up exponentially by my inability (or really my downright refusal) to quit smoking. And no, I will not apologize for that either.

Regardless, I do hope to tell my story at some point; which is painfully arrogant of me, but I have never lacked for arrogance. But mayhap someone would find the story of William Madden, Loki Odinson, and eventually Loki Laufeyson to be a good one. And I can vouch, without any hesitation whatsoever, that it has been one bloody hell of a ride.

 

_**Loki Laufeyson (February 2008)** _


End file.
